


guardian angel ad litem

by forpeaches (bluecarrot)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), It's a Wonderful Life (1946)
Genre: (brief) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempt at Humor, F/M, Guardian Angels, Silly, Suicide Attempt, i dont even know, life is strange and so is this fic, not actually religious, not nearly as depressing as it seems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23060863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluecarrot/pseuds/forpeaches
Summary: ... in which Brienne gains a disaffected angel, sent to teach her the error of her ways.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 71
Kudos: 188





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i’m really amused by this story & i hope y’all are, too?
> 
> *
> 
> written march 2020.

Snow fell gently down, coating the slats of the bridge, melting when it hit the water. And Brienne stood on the edge of the railing for one long, careful moment. She wasn’t gathering her courage — no. she had plenty of that.  She was taking in a final view of the world. 

It was very pretty, she thought. Shame it was such a shithole.

She let herself fall.

The water was dark and cold. It  flooded her mouth and stripped down her senses to blankness. Even if she’d wanted to swim it was impossible — she was stiff and frozen — drowning —

Then arms went around her and someone was yelling in her ear and dragging her towards a pillar, hauling her up on the cement, saying her name — _stay awake, stay with me now, come on Brienne_ — while she shook all over, teeth rattling, shaking and sodden and soaking and very much alive.

Someone had her by the arm and wouldn’t let go, and she was too shocked-stupid to argue.

They found a diner open all night and the man slipped into a booth, yawning.

Brienne sat across from him. Her clothes weren’t half dry and her feet squelched in her shoes, and she still couldn’t  _think._

The liminal space of the diner — squeaky vinyl bench seats, blackness and streetlamps outside while a grim midnight fluorescence shone down on them both from overhead — did nothing for her equanimity. She stuttered at him. “Who are you? Why did you help me? How did you even  see me? Why ... why are you _dressed_ like that?”

Because he was wearing all black, a tight t-shirt and tighter jeans, looking as if he’d wandered unto the street after attending (or performing at) some punk rock concert. He had long eyelashes framing the greenest eyes she’d ever seen, blonde hair drying in curls around his face, and while one arm was muscled in a very appealing fashion, the other was thinner, and ended in a flat stump rather than a hand.

He rested it on the table, apparently quite unselfconscious about it.

He didn’t seem to be in the least damp, either, despite chasing her into the water. It made no damn sense.

“What’ll it be?” said their waitress, not looking up.

“Coffee,” said the man. “For both of us. May as well the pot.”

“No free refills,” she said, and left them alone. 

Brienne leaned forward. Her arms left little pools of water on the table, dripping damp patches. “Who are you?”

He shifted in his seat and reached around and took a pack of cigarettes from — somewhere; he stuck one in his mouth and lit it — she didn’t see how.

He said, around the cigarette, “Miracle that these aren’t soaked through. I guess someone up there likes me.” He snorted. “That seems unlikely, though, doesn’t it? Considering the situation we’re in.”

He blew out a mouthful of smoke and Brienne shrank back into the booth. “You can’t smoke here!”

“Gods above, are you always such a goody two-shoes? Fine. I’ll behave.” He took it out of his mouth, holding it in his hand as he gestured grandly. “I am Jaime Lannister, at your service. And I mean that literally: I am here on this earth expressly to serve you. I shall help you along your life’s lessons in whatever way necessary. I will aid, abet, — that is a-b-e-t, not a-b-e-d, although bedding is also a service I offer fresh-faced young maidens such as yourself—”

Brienne did _not_ manage to prevent a blush at that, and it only made her more cross. “You’re chapping my ass, whomever you are.”

Jaime smiled. “Better get used to it, wench. I’m your guardian angel.”

At that precise moment their waitress returned with the coffee pot — overheard the conversation — and left. She didn’t even complain at the cigarette.

Brienne told herself that as soon as feeling returned to her numb feet, _she_ would be going, too. This entire thing made her distinctly uncomfortable. Even her discomfort made her uncomfortable — it was all so _strange_.  Meanwhile, she resigned herself to drying and so resigned herself to the argument. “There are no such thing as angels. And if there _were_ , they certainly wouldn’t look like _you_.”

“Mistaken on both counts. But,” and he narrowed his eyes at her — “What do you find unappealing about how I look? I was counted as quite attractive in my day. Have humans really changed that much since I was alive?”

“You’re — you’re—”  She couldn’t lie and call him _ugly_ , could she? He would probably know. She settled for “You look ridiculous in those clothes.”

“Sorry to disappoint. We don’t always get these minor little details accurate. And I was in a bit of a rush.”

“You have only one hand.”

He shrugged.

“And your hair is really too long. You should cut it.”

“No one messes with my hair,” he snapped. “Don’t even start with that shit.”

“Fine. I‘m not. But — wait. Why do I have a _guardian angel?_ Shouldn’t you be helping children walk across rickety bridges, or something? I’m an adult. _I_ don’t need saving.”

Jaime stubbed out the end of his cigarette. “You were going to kill yourself. I was sent here to stop you.”

“Sent — by who?”

He rolled his eyes. Green eyes. Clear and bright. “Let’s agree right now not to discuss all that. No politics, no religion: got it?”

“But — but you’re all wrong. I wasn’t going to do that. It’s a mistake.” Warmth flooded her: a sense of relief. “You can go back to wherever you came from, it’s really alright, I’m fine ...”

“I’m sorry,” said Jaime. For a moment, for a wonder, he seemed to actually mean it. “There’s no mistake here, Brienne. We’re stuck together til we sort this out.”

She felt cold again at that: cold all over. “I didn’t tell you my name.”

“You didn’t need to tell me,” said Jaime. “I know who you are.”

And for no reason at all, she believed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the whole concept of angels is arguably religious, but  
> 1\. i disagree  
> 2\. i do what i like  
> 3\. the description of angels with which i am most familiar involves their many many eyes, which is hella freaky and definitely belongs in Westeros


	2. Chapter 2

“Alright,” said Jaime. He put his hand in his pocket, walking comfortably alongside her. In the distance before them was her village; receding behind them was the clump of lights and pavement that meant diner, river, bridge.  “Tell me why you were going to do the big naughty one.”

Brienne was awkward. She was too tall and plain-bordering-on-ugly. She had a big mouth and big teeth and she was still sort of _damp,_ and adding all that on to an extremely bad day did not improve her mood in the slightest. She did not want to talk about this — not now, preferably not ever -- and definitely not with someone who looked like ... that. 

So she stalled. “I thought you already knew all that. My _reasons._ You’re all-knowing and all-seeing, right?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m an angel, not a god. I don’t know the inside of your brain. We still need to have  _conversations_. What do you think this relationship is?” He was annoyed — almost as much as when she’d told him to cut his hair.

“Beg pardon for not knowing the rules of etiquette for being haunted.”

“I’m not — would you slow down on those long legs of yours, wench? Maybe stop a minute? I’m not used to walking.”

Of course he wasn't used to it. He normally _flew_. 

Brienne walked faster. The sound of the ocean was quite close by, magnified by the cliffs. She heard the waves roaring and drawing back, but here in the darkness it was invisible.

Jaime said, “Look. There aren’t rules for this. Not like how you’re saying it. Obviously the normal ones apply --"

“The _normal_ ones?”

He made a face. “This is stepping dangerously close to the forbidden topics, you understand, but I can probably avoid lightning bolts by being extremely vague. So.” He held out his hand, opening one finger for each point. “Don’t cheat, don’t lie, don’t go around murdering people. Generally try not to be an asshole. That’s the way, or so I’m told. Obviously I would not know on a personal level. And stop asking questions, please. I really will get zapped.”

“ _Don’t be an jerk,_ huh.”

“Yep.”

“That rules you out.”

Some expression flashed across his face and was gone again, too fast to read. “Now you’re getting it. Good job.”

She started walking again, more slowly so he could keep up. Her father's house was getting nearer. “Is that what happened to your hand? Did you ... break a rule?”

“Gods help me, you really are a moralist. Anything else you need to know that I can’t talk about? Might as well get it all out. How about politics? Go on, ask me who to vote for. Try it.”

She bit her mouth on a smile. “Who should I vote for?”

“Oh, I don’t know — maybe the person you think would do a good job? Just an idea.”

And by then they’d reached the circle of brightness around her home, and she realized her  father had left the light on her. 

Her throat tightened. 

She said, “You’d better disappear. I can’t explain you to my dad.” Not looking like that. Not showing up like this, walking her home in the darkness ...

“Sure thing.” He fetched out another cigarette and lit it. “But I’ll be here when you wake up again. I’ll wait for you.” He stared at her. “When you come back out, we are going to have that unpleasant conversation about _bridges_ and _your choices_ tonight. Don’t think you’re getting out of this, wench.”

“My name is Brienne.”

He looked utterly, utterly bored. “Who gives a shit about your name?” he said: and disappeared. Literally vanished.  The red end of his cigarette glowed a second after the rest of him was gone.

Brienne bit down on a yell — she’d _told_ him to do it, after all — and went into the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am Brienne in this fic — constantly asking for the rulebook and being extremely disappointed that there isn’t one


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne tells a story; Jaime works on his tan.

"Honey?"

She poured coffee steadily. "Yeah."

Her father was never one for small talk. "Who was that who came home with you last night? Someone from work?"

"Um," she said.

"You know I don't step into your personal business. When you moved back in here, we agreed ... I understand that you're an adult."

"Dad. I'm not sleeping with him."

"Well," said her father. "I figured that. Thought that if you were dating him, you'd keep him in your room at night. But since you're not dating ... what I can't quite see is why he's still in the yard."

Shit.

Her very own angel incarnate was laying on his back in the grass, looking up at the sky and smoking a cigarette.

Brienne stopped a few paces away. “What are you doing here?”

”Waiting for you. I said that I would.” He yawned. “You took your time about it.”

”I ... I had to sleep.” And eat, and shower, and explain things to her father. She hadn’t done any of it very well.

”Sounds exciting.” He let out a puff of smoke. “Ready to talk?”

”I have to work.”

”Liar. You quit last night.”

This was true: but being reminded of her flaws was not helpful.  She plopped down beside him.  “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“The lovely thing about this situation,” said her angel, “is that you have no choice.” And he smiled.

Brienne didn’t like that smile. “Of course I have a _choice_ , there’s _always_ a choice.”

“Yeah, no. There isn’t. Not for you. We’re stuck together, wench. You talk, or ...” He shrugged.

”What does that mean? That shrug.”

Jaime gave her a look. “I advise conversation.”

“There were these guys,” she started: and then she told him about Hunt and Connington and the others, the bet they’d put on her, the way she had lost it.

Jaime didn’t interrupt.

Brienne rubbed her face with the back of her hand. “Of course they were assholes. I knew that. We were friends anyway, you know? Except we _weren’t_ friends, because I’m a girl. And they couldn’t get past it.” S he wiped her face again, embarrassed now.

Jaime took out his usual cigarette but instead of putting it in his mouth, held it and stared at it. “What do you want me to do?”

“You?”

“Well,” said Jaime. “Us. What should we do. I assume that’s why I’m here — don’t you agree? Find a reason for you to keep l iving, and all that.” He looked at her now. “Would beating the shit out of them suffice?”

“You can’t beat anyone up with one hand.”

He sputtered. “Firstly, I can. Secondarily, it’s awfully bold of you to assume that _I_ would be the one doing it—”

And Brienne laughed aloud.

She covered her mouth at once — but Jaime was smiling, and this time he didn’t look away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i give up on trying to write long chapters! i give UP.  
> long chapters are for people who do things like “describe things in the scene” and “give sufficient information to the reader” and “finish their sentenc


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written 15-16 May 2020.

“So. Tell me of this Hyle. Or Connington. Or whomever. What do you want to do?”

“Um. Haunt them?”

He snorted. “What — Rattle some chains? Flicker the lights? I’m an angel, not a ghost.”

“You’re not much of an angel,” said Brienne, “from what I’ve seen.” What about him made her want to argue?

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Cute. What do you want to do about them?”

“What ... what can we do? What am I allowed to do? No, no — I remember. No murder, no lying, et cetera. Okay.” She ran her hands through her hair. “What can you do? What are your ideas?”

“If you like, I can show you what would have happened if you had been allowed to die. That’s a real classic for us. Fun for all ages.”

“If I had been allowed,” she murmured.

Jaime shrugged. “Not everyone gets to do what they want.”

“Did you?”

“Do you want to see it or not?” he said: his voice was surprisingly kind.

“Yes. Alright. But —“ 

And then she yelped, and clutched his hand, because they were flying — floating — houses and trees passing like grey mist, like magic, like a dream — 

“Am I dead?”

“Always the drama with you. Here’s Connington.”

Ron was seated on the foot of his bed, flipping through a magazine. He didn’t seem to be paying much mind to the articles, either. He made it to the centerfold and leaned back, with a long sigh, and —

“Ugh!”

“Well, so don’t look at it,” said Jaime, sounding perfectly calm. “Although this is what you wanted to see.”

“I didn’t want to see that! I never wanted to see that! Gods, is this how he reacts to finding out I’m dead? He comes home and jerks off? That’s horrible.”

Jaime made a moue. “This is afterwards. I thought you’d want his true response, not whatever he said to other people about how sad he is and blah blah blah.”

“Yeah,” said Brienne, assiduously staring at the ceiling, ignoring the sounds of Ron in his private moment. “You’re right. Now let’s go.”

He stared at her. “You know this isn’t about you, right? This is his normal routine. He’s a disgusting wad of a man, but he isn’t as bad as all that.”

“Bad enough,” said Brienne. “Let’s go.”

Hyle Hunt was next.

He too was seated on his bed, and for a horrible second, Brienne thought that she’d have to be mute witness to another jerk-it session from a former friend: but no. Hyle was only staring at his hands.

Now and then he rubbed his face — but turned downward as it was, she could not read his expression.

“Is this —“

“Quiet,” said Jaime. “You might learn something.”

Hunt sat there a long time, not really moving or doing anything; certainly he did not speak.

Finally he stood and left the room.

Jaime looked at Brienne. “That’s it.”

“Nothing happened.”

“That’s what happened. What would have happened. He hears you passed; he comes home; he leaves again.”

“Does he know I killed myself?”

A shrug.

“Does he know it was over him?”

“Oh,” Jaime murmured. “Was it?”

“No,” said Brienne. “It wasn’t. Where now? Who’s next?”

“Your father, if you’d like.”

But she shook her head. No. This was enough. She knew her father would grieve, and some of her coworkers too, but time would pass and the grass would grow up in the bare dirt where she used to park her car, and that ... that would be it.

She felt something like a wind or a chill — shut her eyes — and they were back on her lawn again.

She was holding Jaime’s hand, again. She dropped it, self-conscious, and then shivered. 

“What is it?” he said. “Sick? That travel can be hard on a human.”

“I’m fine. It’s just — it’s just windy, that’s all. I’m cold.”

And Jaime settled something around her shoulders — a leather jacket, of course.

Brienne didn’t ask where it had come from. “They don’t care about me. If I’d been really dead ...” 

Somehow this seemed worse than what they’d done. The bet; sleeping with Hyle; that was nothing compared to knowing this.

She wiped her face and picked at the edge of the jacket.

“If it matters,” he said, “they’ll never do this again. To anyone.”

“Right. They suddenly become perfect citizens.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you did it, didn’t you? You stopped them from hurting girls. Other girls.”

“We did.”

Oh, right. Partners. Teamwork. She tried to smile, to be grateful — to give a single shit about those other girls who could be a little more safe — at least from those men, and that game.

Pity there were always more wolves around the corner, she thought. And ... 

“What?”

“Why couldn’t you have done all this before they hurt _me?_ ”

“It doesn’t work that way,” he said, soft, and made an aborted movement with his right arm like he wanted to reach out to her.

The comfort he wouldn’t give, the maimed hand he wouldn’t explain: it stuck in her chest and pinched.  _It doesn’t work that way._ “For those girls, but not for me? Of course not. Why would _I_ be _protected_ from anything? Why would _I_ be  helped?”

Had Jaime flinched? “We did keep you from suicide, you know.”

She jumped to her feet at that. “Yes. You let me see that no one would be upset if I died except my  father . Thanks so much. I thought that no one cares and I now I know for sure.”

Jaime stood, too. He was very nearly her own height. She hadn’t noticed that before. But now he was close by — she felt the warmth of his skin. “Don’t talk like that.”

“Or what? Am I going to get you in trouble?”

“One of us will be,” he said. “But. Listen. Who cares how many people love you? This isn’t a numbers game, you ignorant human. There’s no prizes handed out for _dying with the_ _most friends_ and _most beautiful corpse_.”

“I’d lose on both counts.”

“Who cares? You’ve helped people.  That is the point. Connington and Hunt—”

If he didn’t stop, she was going to scream. So she struck out. “What happened to your hand, Jaime?”

He looked — angry. She’d never seen him angry before. “That isn’t your business.”

“Oh, but you can know all of mine, huh? That’s fair?”

“It isn’t fair and it isn’t unfair. It just is.”

“It happened before you died,” she said.

He fished a cigarette out and lit it, with that same sleight-of-hand she’d admired in the diner. 

It didn’t seem quite as impressive now that she thought she hated him — now that she hated herself — now that she had that teeming, standing-on-the-bridge feeling again. She could jump into the water right now and never surface. “Tit for tat, Jaime. Quid pro quo. Tell me your secrets and I’ll share mine. Did you lose it  _helping_ someone?”

He was very still: then he nodded. 

She hadn’t really expected him to say yes. She’d thought — an accident, a birth defect, something — “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Jaime dropped his half-smoked cigarette on the dirt, grinding it under his heel, but didn’t reply. 

She touched his arm. “I really am sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault.”

“Does that mean I can’t care?” 

“It means you don’t need to bother,” he said.

He was such a goddamned snake sometimes. “Is helping people a _numbers game,_ Jaime? Did you get a medal for it?”

He snorted. “No one gets a reward for a single good act.”

“Now you have two,” she told him. “We stopped Connington and vile Hunt. I’m sure someone will give you a trophy for _two_ good deeds.”

“No. And it would be your trophy, anyway. You did it.”

“We’re a team,” she said: and the feeling of drowning receeded a bit, the water dropping down until it only lapped her ankles, because she had made him smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who can’t keep monogamous to a single work? two thumbs up for this girl


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ready for some feels? me neither but here we GO

Selwyn was working, Brienne was in her room, and Jaime was — wherever he went when he wasn’t annoying her.

She lay on her bed, flat on her back, and stared upwards at the ceiling.

As a child she’d stuck up stars all over, a glow-in-the-dark galaxy. Constellations. Selywn shook his head when he saw it, disapproving of all such frippery, but he didn’t make her take them down. He’d only said: “Your mother always loved the stars, too.”

Brienne didn’t remember her mother, didn’t yearn after the loss. But still, now and then she tried to imagine her back into life. They would lay together and look up at the ceiling — the stars were all peeling away now, falling off unexpectedly — 

Ma, she’d say. There’s this boy.

Useless. Impossible.

It doesn’t matter, he had told her, when she was ready to cry over being unloved. That isn’t what this is about.

If it doesn’t matter, why do I hurt so much? Right here, she said to him, and placed her hand on her chest. So Hyle and Ron aren’t going to hurt more girls — that’s great, but that’s a null. Where’s the positive? What have I  _gained?_

The silence of the room gave no answer.

So she got up and went downstairs and scrawled a note to her father (“On a walk, back before you read this”), and went out the door.

A second later she came back in. She wanted that jacket.

The bridge was a good walk from her house, under a sky that seemed to roll with clouds, and the wind that moved the clouds beat against her, too. Even the moon was dim, disappearing entirely for long stretches before she burst out again and brought the road to light, silver and brittle. 

Brienne, hurrying along, was glad enough to have the jacket — but still, still — she wished she could have seen some stars.

If anything, the wind was worse here over the water; it whipped her hair around her ears and brought tears to her eyes. She wiped them away with the back of her hand and swung a leg over the railing — and hesitated. 

“Jaime?” she said.

She didn’t look around. If he was here, he’d be here — appearing next to her, rolling his eyes and lighting a cigarette, saying something rude about how stupid she was to do this, what a waste, she was going to get him in trouble.

Good, she thought. He deserves it.

And she jumped.

The water was no warmer this time; it came down from the mountains, melting ice and snow — and she gasped, choking in shock —

— and Jaime was there, shouting at her.

Brienne laughed; she couldn’t help it. “Where the hell have you been?”

“You fucking moron,” he was saying — she thought he was saying that — but she didn’t care at all. She grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him.

And then there was a flash; and then the world went white.


	6. Chapter 6

Brienne woke up on the shoreline with someone shaking her, talking urgently — Jaime? she thought — and then her stomach overturned.

“Thank the gods.” A woman, it was a woman, not Jaime at all, and she gave Brienne a very nervous smile. “I saw you in the weeds and thought you’d died, I thought you were dead, I pulled you out and called —“

“Thank you. I’m fine.” Getting to her feet, ears ringing and the ground tilting up to meet her. “I’m fine.”

“But you have to let them take you to hospital. Look you over, at least. Give you a ride home. You’re ice-cold and —“

“I’m fine,” she said, so firmly that the woman (girl? She couldn’t have been older than twenty) fell back; she bit her lip, looking unsure. 

She was beautiful, this girl, and well-dressed in what looked like very expensive jeans, a very nice tshirt. Even the river water seemed to flatter her; even her uncertainty only brought out more strongly what was already there. Long red hair, deep blue eyes, perfect cream-colored skin. And she’d waded into the river to pull out a stranger’s body.

Brienne had never felt so ugly or so hateful. She said: “I’ll walk home — it isn’t far.” 

“But —“

“Thank you.” If she stayed here another moment she would either cry or slap that perfect face, so kind and worried, — so she left.

The ambulance passed her a few minutes later, alarm screaming.

She was tired, she was tired, she was tired, and she was stupid. Jaime had called her that and it was true. What was she thinking?

She turned the shower on and stood under it, stooped a little so the hot water could beat down over her neck and shoulders, trying to drown out the refrain. Stupid.

Stupid to want him, stupid to touch him. Probably she was stupid to be a falliable human in the first place, although even in her gloom she couldn’t quite find a way to make that her fault.

Someone knocked on the door. “Brie?”

“I’m almost done.”

“Just making sure,” said her father.

And — because he loved her, because he was worried, because fuck Jaime and his _who cares if anyone loves you_ , she did not agree with him, she’d never agree— because she loved her father, she turned off the shower and got her clothes and went out to talk.

“So,” he said.

She looked at her feet.

“You fell in a pond?” he said.

“Something like that.”

“Is this about that boy you’re not dating?”

She shook her head.

“Did he hurt you?”

“No. Dad, — it was an accident. Let’s just ... let’s forget about it.”

Selwyn stared at her — oh, she’d forgotten how heavy he could stare. She felt like a child and like her adult self, all the worst parts of each rolled together, and only just managed not to squirm.

He said, “I was in a dark place when your mother died. I didn’t talk about it much to

people. Should have, maybe. But that isn’t my way. It isn’t yours either. We don’t bottle things up, we aren’t that sort, but ...”

Yes.

“I never tried to hurt myself,” he said. “Because you were there. Seemed wrong somehow. Unfair. But I thought about it a lot. Where I’d go. What I’d want to see last. What might happen to you afterwards.” He rubbed his face. “Island like this, there’s plenty of ways to have an accident.”

“Dad, I didn’t —“

“I don’t believe love is enough to save anyone. Even the biggest love can’t do that. Mine didn’t save your mother from that cancer and it can’t save you now. I love you more than the world, I’d do anything for you, but what happens isn’t up to me.”

She couldn’t speak.

“Do you know what the meaning of life is?” he said.

She thought of Jaime, taunting her that she wouldn’t die with the most medals. She shook her head.

“Me neither,” he said. “But I hope you stick around awhile, see if you can find out.”

Brienne swallowed. “Dad.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing that boy again,” he said. “Have a coffee with him maybe. There might be one or two things we could discuss. You think he’ll be back?”

Brienne shook her head. “He’s gone, I think.”

“You liked him.”

She sniffed. “He was a pain in the ass.”

“So was your mother,” said Selwyn. “I miss her still.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 03 november 2020.

Her job did not take her back, which was just as she had expected: but it was still a blow. She hadn't expected it to happen, she told herself, leaving the place for the last time, hearing the little bell jangling as the door shut. She hadn't expected anything, so it shouldn't hurt ...

Apparently she had forgotten to guard against hope.

The days dragged on. The world shifted to winter, shifted to spring. She filled out an application at the diner and was actually hired there, so now she was wiping down tables at the same place where Jaime had once sat, the same place she'd dripped water on the floor, the same place ...

On her second day, one of her fellow waitresses asked for her name. "I didn't think you'd make it long enough to bother learning it," she said.

"Brienne," she said, and stuck out her hand. She'd thought -- she had assumed -- that everyone here on Tarth knew her. She had assumed she knew everyone there was to know.

"Arya," said the other. "You'll be sticking around, then?"

And Brienne guessed she would.

She thought about Jaime every day -- and then she didn't think about him every day -- and then she didn't think about him more than once or twice a week -- and then she found herself on her break, standing back behind the diner, thinking about the dickhead customer who'd insulted her twice and then stiffed her on a tip, wishing she'd dumped his drinks in his lap, wishing she had a cigarette or something to do with her hands,

\-- and realized that she hadn't even wondered about him in forever.

It went through her like electricity; she had to tell someone. She tried it with her father. "That boy I was dating?" she said, over supper.

Selwyn raised an eyebrow and said nothing, waiting for the rest of the story. Brienne picked at her meal. The fish was dry and full of bones.

"Yes?" said her father, when she didn't finish.

"Nothing," she said. She put down her fork. "I'm going to take a walk, you can leave the dishes for me to wash up ..."

"I'll do them," said her father. "Dress warm. There's a storm blowing in."

  
She pulled on a knit cap but left her jacket unbuttoned; there wasn't much wind yet after all, only a dense gathering of clouds to the west, and anyway she knew where she was going.

The bridge was familiar enough at any time of year, but right now -- in the half-risen moonlight, with the storm gathering -- it seemed haunted by the choices she hadn't made.

She gripped the balustrade and leaned over the side.

"If I have to jump in again," said a voice, "I'm going to be very annoyed."

Brienne nearly did go over the edge at that.

She let go with a will and turned to see him.

He looked exactly the same but gods, her memory had not done him justice. She felt pink heat in her face and only just managed to say "You took your sweet time about getting here."

"There were some complications."

Breathe. Breathe. "I missed you," she said. "Did you ..." Did you miss me? Did you want to be back? I've dreamt about kissing you, she wanted to say. I've dreamt about doing more than that.

"That was one of the complications." He wasn't smiling. He was studying her face, looking tense. "Brienne..."

"Don't worry," she told him. "I'm not going to do anything stupid, like -- like kiss you, or anything. I'm not going to do anything."

"Shame," he said. "I'd rather hoped you would."

They stared at each other.

Brienne wet her mouth. "Just come home with me, will you? Have some coffee. There's a couch, if you want to stay awhile. I'd like you to meet my dad."

"That's a sentence I never expected to hear," he started, -- but she had his hand now, and she had no plans to let go.


End file.
